Sisters in Love (Snow Sisters, Book One: Love in Bloom Series #1) (9 page)

“Not necessarily. His friend referred him,
and we have no prior relationship. He hit me in the nose and we
talked at the bar. That’s as far as it went.”

“Come on. Isn’t that like saying you only
sort of had sex? Who are you now, Bill Clinton?”

Danica didn’t like the insinuation, even if
she was a little bit right. Had they kissed, Danica would not have
taken him on as a client, but there’d been no physical contact.
Hell, she didn’t even know if she liked him, except for his looks.
Maybe that wasn’t exactly true, but she was a professional. She
could determine whom she’d fall into bed with and whom she
wouldn’t, and Blake was now officially off limits.

“No, it’s not the same thing at all. Look,
the guy needs help, and maybe I’ll help him. I’m not going to date
him.”

“What if he likes you and he’s only making up
whatever he’s there for to get closer to you?”

Kaylie had a wild imagination. Danica mulled
over the idea for a second, instantly rejecting it as ridiculous.
“He didn’t even know it was me he was calling. It’s fine.
Really.”

“If you say so.”

“Anyway, what are you calling for?” she
asked.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Chaz is going with me
to the Indie Rock Fest next weekend. Wanna go?”

Kaylie was always jetting off somewhere. “In
Atlanta? Who’s Chaz?”

“Uh-huh, and you know Chaz. The guy I met at
Bar None.”

“Right. Kaylie, you’ve known this guy what—a
day and a half? You don’t know anything about him. Is that even
safe?”

“Come on,
Mom
. I’m twenty-seven years
old. I think I can make that judgment call. I just don’t get you.
Why can’t you break out and have a little fun? Just because Mom and
Dad always said you were the smart, responsible one doesn’t mean
that’s who you have to be.”

Did it mean that’s who she had to be? Danica
wondered. Had she lived up to their desires rather than being who
she wanted to be? Was she living a self-fulfilled prophecy? Was
everyone? She thought of her hopes for the youth center. Danica
shook the thoughts from her head, unable to filter through them in
her present state of mind. She needed to focus on what mattered,
and she had a client coming in shortly. “I did that, remember?
Saturday night? What did that get me? A freakin’ hangover the size
of Washington, DC.”

“So what? It was fun, wasn’t it?” Kaylie
mocked. “Just get over yourself and come with me, already.”

Danica pictured Kaylie’s smug expression, her
eyes saying,
Come play with me
, her body language daring her
with her arms crossed and lips pursed, pushing Danica to be just
like her and shirk her responsibilities. Then again, Kaylie had
hardly any responsibilities when compared to Danica. Kaylie’s whole
life was spontaneous. “Well, as much as I’d like to be your
chaperone—and trust me, I would—I can’t. I take Michelle out on
Sundays, remember? Which reminds me, where can I take a teenager
that would be really fun?”

“Indie Rock Fest,” Kaylie said with a serious
tone.

“You’re no help. I gotta get ready for my
next client. Call ya later?”

“She’d have a great time,” Kaylie urged.

“Gotta go. Love you.”

Two nights later, Blake sat at Sally’s
kitchen table, fidgeting with his keys, a full cup of coffee in
front of him. Sally had aged ten years in the few days since Dave’s
death. She sat with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug, a
thick, white cardigan pulled tight across her thin body. She
reached up and brushed a strand of her white- blond hair from her
forehead. She wore no makeup. On anyone else, her pale skin might
have looked weak or worn-out. But even in her state of loss, Sally
looked regal. Blake remembered all of the times he’d jokingly
called her Dave’s trophy wife, and now he felt bad for making
fun.

“Thanks for taking Rusty to basketball. He
fought me on it. He doesn’t want to go, but I think it’s important
to go on with our lives as best we can. I don’t want Rusty to lose
his friends because of his father’s death. It’s too easy to fall
into depression at his age.” She looked up with sad, robin’s-egg
blue eyes. “He’s already got all that teenage angst going on.”

“It’s not a problem. I have nothing better to
do,” Blake said, and at this point, he really didn’t have anything
better to do. He’d promised himself he would refrain from his
womanizing. “If you’re sure he’s ready.”

Sally nodded. “To some degree, Rusty needs
this outlet. He and Dave had an argument right before…the
accident.”

Blake remembered the bits and pieces of
Dave’s last phone call on the slopes. He’d assumed all parents
dealt with the ups and downs of hormone-filled teenagers, but that
being the last conversation Rusty had with his father was too much
for anyone, much less a teen to shoulder. “Then I’m happy to do
it.”

Sally stood and put her mug in the sink, her
back to Blake. She wrapped her arms around her body, and Blake
watched her shoulders go up and down with a deep inhalation. When
she turned around, her eyes were serious, her lips set in a
straight line. “Blake,” she said, then squinted, as if thinking
about what she was about to say.

“Yeah?”

Rusty came into the kitchen wearing
sweatpants and a black, hooded sweatshirt. His blond hair, just a
shade darker than Sally’s, was long and straight, the way guys wore
their hair in the seventies. His face was drawn and tired.
“Ready?”

Sally shook her head in Blake’s direction.
“Nothing.” She went to Rusty, standing eye to eye to with her son.
“Try and have fun, okay? Blake’s ready, and I’ll be here when you
get home.”

Rusty turned away.

“I love you, Russ.” Sally’s voice was almost
a plea rather than a statement. She wrapped her arms around her
middle as Blake stood to leave with Rusty. “Thanks, Blake. Call me
if you need me.”

Blake didn’t know much about teens, and he
was certain his experience of losing a parent was probably
different from Rusty’s. Sally adored him, and Dave had created a
world that seemed to revolve around him, while Blake had a mother
who’d abandoned him and a father who was always working. Blake
couldn’t imagine that his mother’s abandonment was too similar to
Dave's death. He was afraid to assume that it might fuel the same
type of resentment, but he had to say something. Once again, Blake
wished he were more adept at handling the things in life that
required emotions.

“I’m real sorry about your dad, Rusty,” Blake
said as they drove toward the high school.

Rusty stared out the passenger window, his
hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pockets. He didn’t respond.

Okay, dad is off-limits
. “So, what
position do you play?” he asked.

Rusty turned toward him. His square jaw
looked identical to Dave’s, but he’d clenched it so tight that it
looked out of place on his youthful face. Sally’s blue eyes looked
back at him—pained and unmistakably angry. “Center.” He turned back
toward the window.

Blake nodded, wanting to lighten the mood. He
couldn’t help Rusty not miss his father, but he could try to make
the next five minutes more comfortable. “That’s cool. Are ya any
good?”

Rusty shrugged.

They pulled into the high school parking lot,
and Blake drove toward a parking place.

“You don’t need to come in. Dad usually just
drops me off,” Rusty said flatly, offering no room to consider any
other option.

Blake tried anyway. “I don’t mind. I’d like
to see you play.”

“No, really. It’ll just make me
uncomfortable. Can you just drop me off in the front of the school
and pick me up after practice, like Dad did?”

Blake felt funny agreeing to just leave him
at the school, and he had lied about Dave. Dave had said that he
watched every practice. Maybe Rusty didn’t want to have to explain
why his father wasn’t there. Blake could respect that. “Sure, no
problem. What time should I come back?” Blake pulled up to the
front of the school.

“Eight thirty.” Rusty climbed out of the car,
and before leaving, he leaned back in. “Thanks.” He pressed his
lips together, then said under his breath, “I really appreciate
it.”

Blake watched Rusty walk in the front doors
of the school and wondered what he’d do for the next hour and
twenty minutes. A bar was out of the question. Going home made no
sense. By the time he got home, it would be almost time to come
back and pick up Rusty. He settled on parking in the lot and
surfing the Internet on his phone and maybe closing his eyes for a
minute or two.

Parked under a tree in the side lot, Blake
thought about his first appointment with Dr. Snow—
Danica
.
She’d tamed her curly hair and pulled it away from her face. He
noticed the telltale signs of attraction, the way she’d stared at
his arms a second too long; then, in the next breath, she’d snapped
into therapist mode. He liked that about her, that serious, smart
side. It had taken all of his willpower not to stare at her long
legs and the way her hair exposed the smooth skin of her neck. He’d
looked down, out the window, anywhere but toward her magnificent
body. He really wanted to change, but he wondered if he could
reveal his darker, shameful side to a beautiful woman. To
that
beautiful woman? What choice did he have, really? A
male therapist? That would be no better. He’d feel like he was
bragging, whereas with a female, she’d surely have motivation to
set him straight. No woman condoned a womanizer. Even those he
hooked up with had hoped for more, and some had even laid into him
when they’d seen him again and he hadn’t called, as promised. He
was beginning to understand the anger behind those vicious attacks.
He’d caused them emotional pain, and they had just been giving it
right back.

Blake looked up and watched a group of kids
walking across the street, all wearing dark, hooded sweatshirts,
hunched forward against the cold night's air. He stared for a few
minutes, then realized that the one in the middle looked a lot like
Rusty.

He pulled out of the parking lot and drove
slowly by the group of kids, looking back in his side mirror.
Damn it to hell,
Rusty
. Anger thundered in Blake’s
chest. He wasn’t sure if he should approach him or let him be. What
would Dave do? He pulled over around the corner and realized that
he had no idea what Dave would do. Was he that bad of a friend?
Shouldn’t they have talked about these things? The ups and downs of
Dave’s family, not just Blake’s conquests?
Damn it
. What
would his own dad have done?

Blake stepped from the car and headed around
the corner and up the sidewalk toward Rusty.

Rusty stopped in his tracks. His friends
looked from him to Blake.

“Practice canceled?” Blake asked.

“Who is this dude?” the shortest kid
asked.

Rusty put his palm out toward the kid. “No,”
he said to Blake.

“Dude? What practice?” another kid asked.

Blake looked at the five of them and was slow
on the uptake. There was no practice. This was what Rusty did to
get out with his friends.
Shit
. Blake may not have known
much about parenting, but he knew it wasn’t okay for a kid to ditch
an adult or lie about where he was going and what he was doing. Why
the hell would Dave have lied about going to the practices?

“Rusty? Do you want to talk in private?”
Blake asked, trying to spare him from embarrassment.

“No,” he said; then he spun on his heels.
“Let’s go.”

“Whoa.” Blake stood in front of him, arms
crossed. “Rusty, I’m responsible for you. I can’t just let you walk
away.” He leaned in closer, speaking quietly. “What would your dad
have thought?”

“My dad? Shit, my dad didn’t give a fuck
about me or anyone else besides himself. He left me here and took
off every week.” Rusty barreled past him, his friends in tow.

What the hell was going on? Blake froze,
watching his best friend’s son walk away, going God knows where.
Should he stop him, confront him again? Call Sally? Shit. He had no
idea what to do, so he watched Rusty walk away, went back to his
car, and parked in the school parking lot, asking himself why the
hell he was wasting his time.

Blake pulled out his cell phone and dialed
Danica’s office number. If anyone had answers, it was a therapist,
and she seemed smart and tactful. As expected, the answering
machine came to life.

“This is Blake Carter. Thanks for seeing me
today. I definitely would like to come back next week, if you're
willing to see me. Please let me know.”

At eight thirty on the dot, Rusty came back
and climbed into the car. He just slumped down in the passenger
seat and stared out the window. Blake inhaled deeply, waiting for
the smell of cigarettes or marijuana to waft his way. There was no
smell, which immediately made Blake worry that maybe Rusty was into
something even more dangerous.

“Rusty?”

Rusty looked over. His eyes were clear, his
jaw clenched, the muscles working against his teeth. Blake was
looking into the face of a boy who was used to getting away with
things.

“Wanna talk?” Blake asked.

“Not really,” he answered, keeping eye
contact with Blake.

This kid has balls
. “Do I have to
worry about you doing drugs?”

“No, I’m not doing drugs,” Rusty said with
attitude. “I’m not out stealing or pulling shit I shouldn’t be
pulling, okay?” He turned and looked out the front window. “Thanks
for waiting.”

Blake fought the desire to put him in his
place. But his father had just died, after all. Maybe he needed to
cut him some slack. Then again…

“Listen, I don’t know what went on between
you and your dad, but I’m nobody’s slave, got it? If I drive you
somewhere, I need to know where you're going, not where I’m
dropping you off. You wanna hang with your friends? Then let your
mother know where you’re going. You wanna sit on the curb for three
hours in the dark and pick your nose? Let your mother know. But
there’s no way in hell I’ll be party to you walking the streets
when I have no clue what you’re up to.”